DISCLAIMER - Highlander and its characters is the copyright of Rysher
and Panzer/Davis Productions and no infringement is intended. The story,
such as it is, is copyright Karen Colohan June - December 2000.

WHEN THE MADNESS STOPS...

by Karen Colohan

So you're the kind who deals with the games in the mind
Well you confuse me in a way that I've never known
You confuse me in a way that I've never known So break me shake me hate me take me over
When the madness stops then you will be alone
Just break me shake me hate me take me over
When the madness stops then you will be alone - Savage Garden "Break Me Shake Me"

Methos was thrust back into awareness with a gasp and a long shuddering breath,
only to find himself immersed in darkness. The pressure across his eyelids
told him this was not a natural condition, at least not exclusively so. He
had been blindfolded, the cloth thick and heavy enough to prevent the possibility
of any light penetrating it.

The second sensation Methos became aware of was the movement of cool currents
of air across his skin - his bare skin. He had been stripped naked after
being killed. That realisation had Methos shivering reflexively. The reaction
was born not of outraged modesty, but a sudden uncertainty about his captor's
motives. This wasn't what Methos had expected - and, until now, he had thought
he understood.

Suddenly anxious, his survival instincts kicking in, Methos tried to move,
though his body still ached and felt somewhat weak. The effects of the massive
Quickening followed so quickly by the long, painful death had taken their
toll on him it seemed. Still, surely his limbs should have healed enough
by now to be capable of movement...

Another deep chill settled into Methos' body as he realised his arms and
legs were perfectly fine. They were, however, fully extended and tightly
shackled in that position. Not like him to fail to recognise that particular
sensation, thought Methos ruefully. Ah well, he'd had rather a lot on his
mind lately, hadn't he. And now he had a whole new set of questions to consider.

This definitely wasn't the scenario he had expected to awaken to.
Anger, righteous indignation, those he had been well prepared to face; although
Methos had thought that killing him in such a painful fashion might have
bled away some of that pent up rage. Apparently not, indeed, it looked as
if that had only served as an appetiser for the main course. But what exactly
was that going to be, Methos wondered.

Before the events of the previous day Methos would have felt confident that
he could predict his captor's behaviour every step of the way. After all,
hadn't he staked his life on that familiarity? But now? Methos wasn't even
certain that he knew whose hands he was in any more. He could detect elements
from both the malevolently ancient Quickenings so recently absorbed in the
logistics of this exercise, but precious little of the underlying personality.
And yet it had to still be in there; if not, his head would have been removed
from his body before any of this was begun.

Methos could recall the angry confrontation over his crouched and uncaring
body with surprising clarity. At the time it had been so much background
noise as he struggled to assimilate a Quickening he had taken, but hadn't
wanted, plus parts of another which had no right to be inside him at all.
And what the hell had that blinding spiral of energy been about anyway? Methos
still didn't understand what had happened. For the first time in a very long
while Methos had experienced something utterly new and unknown and it had
been very disconcerting. When - if - he had the leisure to do so, Methos
intended to explore all the ramifications of that unnerving Quickening.

But first he had to survive this experience. It wasn't new in itself, but
considering who the person Methos thought held him captive was, it
was definitely outside his knowledge of what to expect. Yesterday the man
had wanted him to live - had stared down the witch who was ready to strike
Methos' head from his body until she had thrown down her weapon and walked
away. Then, almost in the next breath, he had stalked up behind Methos and
sunk his bloody katana into Methos' body with deadly force. The unexpectedness
of the action had hurt almost as much as the stroke itself.

Methos could still clearly see the mask of fury his erstwhile friend's face
had become in that moment. He would never forget the loathing and disgust
in his eyes as he stood over Methos and ruthlessly twisted the blade buried
deep in his guts. At the time Methos couldn't have said that he didn't deserve
it. After all, he had manipulated and betrayed, using the man for his own
ends, but Methos hadn't thought he would seek recompense this way.

Now, blindfolded and chained naked to one of the hard, uncomfortable beds
in the abandoned base's barracks, Methos really didn't know what to think.
He had watched Duncan MacLeod go through one Dark Quickening. What might
the combined Quickenings of Caspian and Kronos do to him, then? And they
both knew him so well, knew Methos' fears, his weaknesses. Guided
by that knowledge who could predict what MacLeod might do. Cursing his
helplessness Methos felt real terror curling in his belly. He wasn't afraid
of Duncan killing him; that would be the easy part. What he feared was the
road he would be forced to walk to reach the release of death.

The waiting was unnerving. Methos had nothing to help him measure the passing
of time in his darkened world. It could have been days or merely hours, but
it seemed to go on for an eternity either way. He was beginning to wonder
if his punishment was to be abandoned in this place - left to die of hunger
and thirst, over and over again. Was MacLeod capable of such cruelty, Methos
asked himself. No, whispered a small voice in his head, but Kronos was...

Before he had a chance to continue that train of thought Methos stiffened.
Both welcome and feared, Methos felt the touch of Immortal presence. So,
he wasn't to be abandoned, then. Methos found he was grateful for that mercy,
even though he had no idea what MacLeod's return might herald. And it was
MacLeod who approached him now, Methos was certain of that. Even without
the confirmation of his eyes, Methos could feel the identity of his silent
companion vibrating deep in his own Quickening.

More strangeness - Methos had never been able to recognise another Immortal
simply from the touch of his presence before. What had Kronos done to them
as his Quickening spiralled between their bodies, grounding partially in
each of them? Methos wondered if Duncan felt it too, that soul deep recognition.
Something else to add to the list of new and unsettling experiences Methos
seemed to be compiling these past few days.

Soft footfalls rang hollowly on the concrete floor, announcing MacLeod's
approach more conventionally. They came closer and then stopped.

"You're still here then," said MacLeod, his tone cool, detached.

Methos laughed humourlessly at the ridiculousness of the statement. "Where
else did you expect me to be? I'm a little tied up right now."

"I'm not sure what I expect from you any more, Methos," replied MacLeod.
His voice was flat and expressionless. "Who can tell what Death might do."

"Well, I've never been big on escapology," Methos shot back sarcastically.
"I take it the chains were your idea. I'm assuming this isn't a social visit
- after you stabbed me in the back," he added bitterly.

"Are you going to say you didn't deserve it?" asked MacLeod, anger sparking
in his tone.

"No, but if you wanted me dead why didn't you just let Cassandra finish the
job? I'm sure it would all have been highly cathartic for her." Methos was
still honestly puzzled by Duncan's insistence on that point. "You told her
you wanted me to live. Why? Was it just so you can have the pleasure of taking
my head? She'll probably never forgive you for that, you know."

"So you're going to torture me, is that it? How quaint." Methos let a sardonic
smile twist his thin lips. "Learned some good tricks from Caspian and Kronos,
have you? Hate to spoil your fun, MacLeod, but I've seen it all before."

"I know." It was a flat statement of fact and Methos wondered just how much
Duncan had been able to glean from Kronos' Quickening. "But it's like Kronos
always said, I do so love the old ways."

That wrung a shudder from Methos' slender frame. Kronos had devised some
wonderfully unpleasant ways of tormenting him over the centuries they'd been
together. Which ones might appeal to MacLeod's sense of justice?

"What's it to be then, Mac?" Methos asked, his tone bright with false interest.
"We already have the chains, so what else do you have in mind? Whips, knives,
red hot pokers? They all have their good points."

Faintly mocking laughter greeted his suggestions and it sent chill shivers
racing along Methos' nerves. There was a long moment of silence before MacLeod
replied.

"Pain, it's a useful tool, Methos, but not against you. You're far too adept
at handling it for it to be truly effective." MacLeod paused, and then his
voice continued from a point close by Methos' ear. The other Immortal could
feel the warmth of Duncan's breath against his chilled skin. "I've been looking
at everything Kronos gifted me along with his Quickening; everything he knew
about you. And he found a much more effective weapon against you, Methos;
though he never realised its full potential...

"Don't you remember - all those long, long nights you and he shared? Sex,
that's how Kronos controlled you, kept you to heel. In chains like this or
down on your knees and begging - he knew what you were and now I do too.
You're nothing but a cheap whore, Methos - anyone's for a quick, hard fuck.
It's a pity I didn't realise that before or things might have been very different
for us."

The rich, velvet voice had grown colder as Duncan spoke until, in the end,
it didn't sound like MacLeod at all. Methos tugged at the chains binding
him, trying to distance himself from the man bending over him. He wanted
to believe it was just an idle threat. Surely MacLeod would never do something
like this; it wasn't in his nature. But was MacLeod in control here? Methos
thought again of the Dark Quickening. Was it Mac or was it Kronos who was
the driving force now? Methos was far from certain.

"Mac, this is crazy..." Methos began.

"Is it?" The dark voice still came from close by his ear. "You used me, Methos,
right from the very beginning."

"No." The denial was harsh and absolute. "You'd like to be able to rationalise
it away like that, wouldn't you - another Dark Quickening. But it's not.
This is Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod you're dealing with, Methos,
and I'm very much in command of all my faculties."

"Then why do this?" asked Methos, feeling his control over his fears slipping
away. "Whatever you say, this isn't you - you don't behave this way; Kronos
might... would, but not you."

"Wrong, Methos, it is me," said Duncan sadly. "You made it me when you pushed
me into fighting Kronos and taking his head for you. Nothing is the same
any more. How can it be? I know exactly what you are now."

"What I was, MacLeod!" insisted Methos. "And if you do this now you
force me to be that man again to deal with it. Is that really what you want?
Because I certainly don't. Believe me, that whole thing about the old ways
being the best is just crap."

"What I want, Methos, is for you to understand how I feel now." All at once
Duncan sounded deathly tired. "I trusted you - with my life, and more. I
thought I knew you and now I discover I didn't know you at all. You betrayed
me - played me for a fool. That hurts, Methos. And I want you to feel
the same kind of pain I have."

"You just said you wanted to use sex to hurt me," said Methos. "I'd call
that rape."

"Oh no, you misunderstand," said Duncan, and Methos could hear the satisfaction
in his voice.

"Enlighten me, then," snapped Methos. If he was going to get fucked why didn't
MacLeod just get it over with? What else was there to understand?

Duncan didn't reply and then Methos felt blunt fingers probing at the back
of his head. He tried to pull away before he realised MacLeod was actually
unfastening the blindfold. Methos stilled and let him continue unhindered.
Once the cloth was removed Methos blinked rapidly, trying to accustom his
eyes to the light. The room was really quite gloomy, but after the absolute
blackness even that much light was too much. Eventually, though, Methos was
able to bring things into focus.

Turning his head slightly Methos looked up into the shadowed face of Duncan
MacLeod. He looked as if he hadn't slept in a week, dark circles heavy under
his eyes. And the eyes themselves were dull and lifeless, their usual fire
dimmed. Methos frowned.

"You look like hell," he muttered.

"I feel like I've been there," said Duncan flatly. "You don't look so good
yourself, either."

"Well, now that we've got the compliments out of the way are you sure you
wouldn't prefer to fuck someone else?" asked Methos sharply.

The smile which twisted Duncan's lips wasn't pretty. "You'd like that, wouldn't
you? To be let off the hook? Well, I'm sorry, Methos, but this doesn't work
that way."

One inquisitive finger touched the lightly stubbled skin of Methos' cheek
almost tenderly. It traced a slow path round to his lips, then softly drew
around their outline. In any other circumstances...

Methos shuddered and turned his head away sharply. Oh no, he couldn't let
himself think like that. That particular delusion was far too personal and
especially dangerous right now. If MacLeod suspected, even for one moment,
that he had ever wished for this...

Reality crashed in on the oldest Immortal as Duncan's hands moved very precisely
to turn Methos' face back towards him. MacLeod knew exactly what he was doing
and the effect it would have on Methos. A small, helpless whimper escaped
Methos as he looked up into those dark, knowing eyes and took in the ruthless
smile spreading across Duncan's lips.

"I see you finally understand, Methos," said Duncan slowly. "Just as Kronos
helped me to understand you. And this link his Quickening has somehow managed
to build between us allowed me to learn everything else I needed to know.
You do feel it there - between you and I - don't you?"

Methos nodded dumbly. Well, that answered some of his earlier speculations
about the effect the strange double Quickening had had on them both at any
rate. Not that it was much of a comfort to him. Duncan had indeed found the
perfect weapon against him. Knowledge of Methos' own soul - if he still had
one. Did he have any secrets left now?

Duncan's smile changed again, became more calculating. He tilted his head,
watching Methos and the fear flickering in the green/gold eyes.

"Poor Methos," said Duncan mockingly. "You really don't know how to get out
of this one, do you? Well, I hate to break it to you, but you don't. You're
all mine and I will make you pay for what you did, the way you manipulated
me. And isn't it ironic that I should have Kronos to thank for showing me
the instrument of my revenge - myself. I really was naive not to have recognised
the signs before, wasn't I. Poor lovestruck Methos...

"It's really quite pathetic, isn't it? No wonder you stuck around with Kronos
for so long; you didn't have a choice. He knew exactly how to lead you around
by the balls. But he missed one very important detail; he never even thought
to look for it. I did, though, and I know it all now, Methos."

Methos lay - frozen in place even were it not for the shackles holding him
- not quite believing he was really hearing these words from Duncan MacLeod.
Yes, it certainly was ironic, because without the secrets gleaned
from Kronos' Quickening - and his own - Methos was sure Duncan never would
have guessed the truth that he had kept locked away deep inside. But now
- thanks to MacLeod's defeat of Kronos, engineered by himself - it was out
in the open. And instead of bringing them closer together it was being made
to serve as a wedge to drive them even further apart.

Silently cursing a host of hitherto long forgotten deities, Methos could
only stare at his tormentor. He was helpless and hopeless in the face of
MacLeod's implacable need to break him... and Mac was frighteningly close
to achieving his desire.

The damning voice spoke again.

"How often have you been in this position, Methos? Kronos certainly had you
like this many times, didn't he. And you hated him for it, but you endured
it because, ultimately, being with him made you stronger, helped you survive.
Maybe being his whore didn't do much for your pride, but for all that he
never broke you. Kronos could lay you open, make you vulnerable, but every
time he did he only hurt you physically - and you could bear that. It didn't
really touch you - not where it mattered.

"Kronos never understood the opportunity he had, but I do. I know your fear,
Methos. If Kronos had ever taken you with tenderness you would have been
lost. You'd have crossed that forbidden line and you would have loved him.
But, fortunately for you, he was blind. He didn't see that you feared the
pleasure more than the pain, and so you were safe.

"You're not safe from me, though, Methos," Duncan purred. "Now I know the
feelings you've been hiding from me since the first day we met. So, I'm going
to let you see how it might have been - if you'd only been honest with me...
One taste, Methos, and I'm going to make you cross that line."

No! Don't do this, Mac... But Methos didn't dare say the words out
loud. Then he realised it didn't matter. MacLeod could see them plainly enough
in his eyes, feel them in the sudden fear that coursed through his body and
tainted his Quickening.

To be offered one glimpse of what he had wanted for so long - the chance
to learn how it might have been with Duncan... How could he bear that? One
taste of heaven and then to be cast out of paradise, to be denied even the
double-edged pleasure of being in Mac's company with his feelings unknown,
unacknowledged. That was cruelty indeed. Surely Duncan couldn't really mean
to do this. But one look into those dark, wounded eyes told Methos that Duncan
was utterly serious. He was hurting, and like an injured beast he only wanted
to strike out at those within reach - in this case, Methos.

Methos felt his heart split in two like a piece of rotten ice. No, he wasn't
safe with MacLeod. He'd always known it, but he'd taken the risk and stayed
close, even when all his instincts had counselled against it. Now it was
all going to blow up in his face. Damn Kronos and whatever it was he'd done
to their Quickenings in the dying moments of his existence! He must be laughing
his ass off - wherever he was now - to see his brother so terrified by the
prospect of having his heart's desire fulfilled.

"MacLeod..." Methos didn't care that he was pleading shamelessly. "Don't...
you don't want to do this."

"Oh, but that's where you're wrong, Methos. I do." Duncan surveyed the chained
Immortal, his gaze suddenly heated as it caressed the pale, naked flesh.
"I want you to burn for me," he whispered, leaning close. His lips just barely
brushed Methos' skin as he spoke and the old Immortal shuddered at the elusive
touch.

"No," Methos begged. "Kronos is the only winner if you do this. He'll have
succeeded in destroying whatever friendship we had."

"You did that, Methos," said Duncan firmly. "You destroyed it when
you lied to me; when you pretended you didn't know Cassandra. Even then it
wasn't too late... if you'd told me then I might have understood, but you
didn't."

"I know how you judge, MacLeod," Methos protested. "It always has to be black
and white with you, never shades of grey. Real life isn't like that, though,
not now and certainly not 3,000 years ago. And how does persisting with this
make you any better than Kronos... or me?"

"It doesn't," said Duncan simply. "I don't care about that. I only want you
to hurt as much as I'm hurting. I trusted you - absolutely, completely. I
would have done anything for you, Methos... even loved you."

"No!" Methos wanted to deny the evidence of his own ears.

"Oh yes," Duncan breathed and then swooped down to stop any further protests
as he covered Methos' mouth with his own.

At first Methos tried to fight Duncan off, but chained as he was it simply
wasn't possible. The beautiful mouth - soft lips and sweet, agile tongue
- claimed Methos' soul as surely as it took possession of his lips. Methos
had spent the better part of three years dreaming of this kiss and now it
devastated him even as it aroused him. He had no defence against the sweet
assault; quickly Methos found himself welcoming the invading tongue, twining
his own with it in an erotic duel that left him gasping and whimpering like
a lost child. When Duncan pulled away Methos craned his neck upwards, trying
to prolong the kiss which suddenly seemed as necessary to him as breathing.
But he was denied.

Duncan met his gaze with eyes that were wide and black - all dilated pupil.
"Do you like this, Methos?" he asked. One broad palm caressed the straining
neck in a parody of tenderness, lightly stroking the corded muscles.

"Do you like it?" Methos panted, deflecting the challenge. He sank
back onto the bed, willing himself to relax. He could survive this with his
heart intact... he had to.

Duncan smiled in acknowledgement of the hit, then offered his own riposte.
"Would you like to see how much I liked it?" he asked slyly, and his hand
slid down to cup his own groin suggestively.

Methos shook his head. No, he didn't want to see MacLeod naked. He didn't
want to be tormented with that particular image later. His imaginings were
quite enough to give him fevered dreams as it was.

"We're really going to have to work on this truth thing, aren't we," Duncan
chided. "Besides, how can I fuck you with my clothes on? Hold my place, will
you," he added as he climbed to his feet. Then, slowly and provocatively,
Duncan began to undress.

Methos squeezed his eyes tightly shut and resolutely refused to watch...
until a stinging slap to his cheek caught him by surprise. Methos' eyes flew
open again and he found MacLeod bending over him with an irritated expression
on his face.

"What the hell...?" Methos spluttered angrily.

"You're not paying attention, Methos. That isn't polite." MacLeod frowned.
"Don't make me have to do that again."

Methos was on the verge of an angry retort - until he really looked at Duncan
and noticed that he was now stripped to the waist. The strong, bronzed chest
with its light furring of dark hair was too much of a distraction and Methos'
irritation evaporated in a heartbeat. Drawn by the sleekly muscled contours
Methos tried to reach out and touch, but the chains held him back, preventing
him from doing so. A growl of frustration escaped the old Immortal's throat.

"Damn you, MacLeod!" he hissed. The sensible, survival oriented part of Methos'
brain protested that he was a fool; that he shouldn't - didn't - want MacLeod
this way. At the same time a far louder voice was speaking to the deeper,
more visceral part of his mind and insisting, to hell with good sense - nothing
was more important than possessing the Highlander.

MacLeod smiled, seeing the conflict evident in Methos' eyes. "You can look,
but you can't touch - yet," he cautioned the other Immortal. Then Duncan
straightened up and went to work on the fastening of his trousers.

Even in the gloom of the room it was clear to Methos that Duncan was already
hard. Try as he might Methos couldn't tear his eyes away as Duncan carefully
lowered the zipper and parted the concealing fabric. Then, still as slowly,
he pushed the trousers down over his hips and let them slide to the floor.
That left only the white cotton briefs to hide the secrets of Duncan's body
that Methos had spent considerable time fantasising about.

Duncan took his time, taunting Methos. The other Immortal had nothing to
shield his arousal from Duncan's roving eyes and the Highlander drank in
the sight of Methos' swollen cock. The visible success of his plan to humble
Methos was pleasing and he allowed himself a moment to enjoy it. Slowly MacLeod
peeled off his briefs and stepped out of them, exposing himself to Methos'
hungry stare. He moved closer, his thick cock right at the old Immortal's
eye level, but just out of reach. Duncan watched as Methos licked his lips,
his desire clear.

"Do you want this?" Duncan asked huskily. He slowly stroked his swollen penis
with the fingers of one hand, tilting his hips towards Methos' face.

"Please..." Methos didn't care if he was begging. He only knew he wanted
to taste that thickened flesh, to feel it filling his mouth and sliding into
his throat. The sharp scents of sweat and pre-come flooded his senses and
made his body ache with need.

Duncan made him wait for it. He continued the slow, steady motions of his
hand until drops of pearly fluid seeped from the head of his cock. Then he
inched closer, painting the salty pre-come over Methos' mouth.

Methos' tongue flicked out, sampling the offering glistening on his lips.
It wasn't enough; he had to have more. He craned his head around until he
could lick along the slick length of the swollen shaft, delicately tasting.
Greedily Methos opened his mouth, reaching out to draw the precious flesh
inside, but before he could Duncan pulled away.

"Wait," he growled when Methos began to protest.

Instead Duncan clambered up onto the bed, straddling the old Immortal's
spreadeagled body. He slid forward until his cock was nudging at Methos'
chin. Then he grabbed the other man's head between his hands, angling it
so that the parting lips were perfectly aligned to accept his cock as he
thrust forward with his hips.

Methos sighed his pleasure as the prize once more came within his reach.
He wished that his hands were free so that he might use them as well. He
wanted to learn the shape of the thick, sturdy cock and the feel of the warm,
smooth skin that covered it so that he could commit them to memory. But again
the chains prevented it, so Methos concentrated on sight, taste and scent
instead.

Duncan was thrusting into his mouth with hard, rythmic jerks of his hips.
Methos relaxed and let the swollen head of Duncan's penis glide into his
throat, swallowing against it and tasting the fresh surge of pre-come. Duncan
was sinking so far into his mouth with each thrust that the rough tangle
of curls at his groin brushed against the sharp blade of Methos' nose. Methos
inhaled deeply, pulling in the masculine scent of MacLeod's arousal and letting
it fill his senses.

It hadn't been Duncan's intention to let Methos make him come so soon, but
the old man was supremely skilled at this. His lips and tongue pulled the
pleasure from Duncan's body, so that almost before MacLeod realised it was
happening his orgasm crashed over him. He shuddered as liquid fire seemed
to course through his veins, spreading the intense sensations along every
limb. His penis plunged deep into Methos' throat and spilled its pulses of
semen, which Methos eagerly drank down. Then the old Immortal suckled the
softening flesh until Duncan pulled free, unable to bear the continued
stimulation of his over-sensitised cock.

As he drew back Duncan watched the expression of utter contentment which
spread across Methos' face. The old man looked positively beatific.

Enjoy it while you can, Methos, thought Duncan darkly. Indulge
your little fantasies. They're all you'll have once this is over. But
somehow that thought didn't give Duncan quite the satisfaction he had expected
it to. Maybe it was just hard to be vindictive with the post-coital warmth
still curling around him. Or perhaps it was the fact that Methos looked strangely
beautiful - the very antithesis of Death - as he savoured the taste of Duncan's
climax, which still filled his mouth.

But he was Death, Duncan reminded himself - or had been, in a thousand year
orgy of violence and destruction - and there was no beauty in that. Methos
deserved everything that was coming to him. Duncan was merely meting out
a long overdue punishment for the old man's past sins. And, added to that,
he was claiming his own due - payment for the lies Methos had told him. Duncan
felt his anger building again and decided Methos had been given long enough
to recover. It was time for him to lie back and spread his legs - just like
he had for Kronos. Duncan was going to give Methos a fucking he'd never forget,
would never want to forget. And then, hopefully, he'd never have to see the
deceitful SOB again.

Duncan scooted back until he knelt between Methos' spread thighs. The old
Immortal's cock lay unrelieved against his belly, reddened and swollen. A
small pool of pre-come had gathered at the tip. Duncan smiled nastily to
see the evidence of Methos' desire for him.

The chameleon eyes were open again and watching him. A volatile mixture of
emotions chased one another through those expressive depths, now more green
than hazel. Duncan saw pain, sadness, desire and a strange understanding,
but he didn't want this man's empathy. He wanted Methos' surrender and he
wanted him to hurt - his heart torn the way Duncan's had been when Methos
had so callously shattered all his illusions about the oldest Immortal.

"It's still not too late." Methos' soft voice sounded loud in the oppressive
silence. "You don't have to do this, Mac."

Duncan's expression hardened. "Yes, I do," he said harshly.

"Who is this hurting more?" Methos persisted. "You or me?"

"You aren't going to talk your way out of this one, old man," Duncan growled.

"Fine." Methos sighed tiredly. "Let Kronos have his victory, then. Fuck me
into next week, see if I care."

"Oh, you do care," hissed Duncan. "This..." He wrapped one broad hand around
Methos' swollen cock and gave it several firm strokes. "This tells me that
you do. So did the expression on your face when you made me come. You wanted
it - you still do. And I'm going to give you what you want, but on my terms."

Duncan gave the thickened flesh one last squeeze, wringing a deep groan from
Methos. Then he let it fall back onto the old man's flat belly. His hand
was damp with Methos' pre-come, so Duncan brought it to his lips, licking
the stickiness off provocatively. Watching his actions drew another moan
from the old Immortal, but Duncan was unprepared for the jolt of pure lust
that shot through his own body at the first taste. By the time he'd licked
his palm clean Duncan was fully hard again. He circled his penis with his
damp hand and caressed it slowly, feeling the pleasure build.

Methos watched Duncan avidly. Desire still warred with anger and confusion
in him, but he could not deny his visceral reaction to the Highlander. And
he was well aware of the mixed emotions he was engendering in Duncan too.
Their intertwined Quickenings gave each of them a window into the other's
mind and it was apparent to Methos that this situation was confusing the
hell out of them both. But the barely settled power of the two ancient
Quickenings Duncan had taken seemed to be inciting his own roiling emotions
and driving him inexorably down this path he had embarked upon. All Methos
could do was hold on and hope that he survived the ride... and that Duncan
did too. Methos still couldn't help wondering how the Highlander would feel
once everything was settled inside him and he was back to his more rational
- and guilt-prone - self.

For the moment, though, Duncan was focused on his thoughts of revenge. And
those thoughts had turned sexual once again as he prepared to release some
of his Quickening inspired tension by fucking Methos. Duncan sucked two fingers
into his mouth, wetting them thoroughly. He smiled as Methos flinched at
the first inquisitive touch. Duncan tried to angle Methos' hips to give him
better access, but the chains holding the old Immortal's ankles in place
hampered him as much as those on Methos' wrists had frustrated the other
man earlier. With a muttered curse Duncan scrambled off the bed and went
in search of his discarded clothes. A quick hunt through the pockets turned
up the small bunch of keys he needed.

Duncan turned back and cautiously undid the restraints around Methos' ankles.
Methos gasped as circulation was suddenly restored and a thousand tiny pinpricks
of sensation danced over his skin. He flexed his feet carefully, speeding
up the painful process. Methos cried out again as Duncan grabbed both feet
hard, holding them down firmly against the bed.

"Don't get any ideas about kicking me," Duncan growled. "This is for my benefit,
not yours."

"Fuck you," muttered Methos angrily. "I was just trying to get some feeling
back into my feet. Strangely enough, being chained up for hours doesn't exactly
improve the circulation."

After weighing his words for a moment Duncan let go, but he still watched
carefully as Methos slowly eased the cramps in his calves and feet. Eventually
Duncan lost patience and caught hold of Methos' legs again, pushing them
up and apart. Now he could survey his goal more easily.

For a moment Methos considered defying him, but what was the point in
antagonising Duncan further? With his wrists still chained Methos wasn't
going anywhere. He might just as well get this over with as quickly as possible.
Then, with any luck, MacLeod would let him go and he could retreat to Bora
Bora or some other remote place to lick his wounds. It wouldn't be easy,
but he'd have to start trying to piece together the shattered remnants of
his life at some point.

Duncan's fingers, newly moistened, began to explore once again. Slowly they
circled the muscular ring guarding the entrance to Methos' body. With very
little encouragement it opened to admit one broad digit. It was clear Methos
was no stranger to being in this position. He'd certainly spread his legs
for Kronos many times in their thousand years together, but how many others
had known this lithe body since then? How many had possessed Methos, and
how many had he claimed in his turn? Or was he always the one on his back?

Duncan looked up the slender body to the pale, resigned face. The expressive
eyes were closed again, and Duncan felt vaguely grateful for that. The mixture
of desire and reproach he had seen there before was strangely disturbing.
But he didn't want Methos retreating somewhere inside himself to escape from
the knowledge of what was being done to him. He had the feeling Methos would
have perfected the art of escaping that way - learning to avoid painful
experiences - over the years. Not today, though, Duncan wanted Methos' full
attention - wanted him to know exactly who was now claiming his body.

Carefully Duncan withdrew his finger. Then he slid down between Methos' thighs.
After a moment in which he simply drew in the deep, masculine scent of Methos'
body he bent his head.

The first swipe of Duncan's tongue over the tight opening had Methos tensing
in dismay. His eyes flew open and he looked down to see the dark head buried
between his thighs. As the agile tongue licked repeatedly at his anus Methos
tried to hold still, but it was impossible. Kronos had never done this to
him - would never have thought to pleasure him this way - but others had
done so since, and Methos loved it. And so Methos was lost as Duncan's tongue
finally breached him, easing inside and stealing a little more of his soul
with every flickering thrust.

Methos cried out - he wasn't sure if the keening wail was born of pleasure
or pain - and then came violently. Duncan hadn't even touched his swollen
cock, hadn't needed to. Just the wet thrusts of his tongue deep into Methos'
body were enough. Methos tensed, drawing his knees tight against his chest
as the pleasure exploded through him in white hot bursts. And Duncan continued
the delicious torture as he shuddered out his completion. Methos felt his
semen splash onto his belly and its touch seemed to scald him. But too soon
the pleasure began to ebb away, leaving Methos cold and desolate in its wake.

The flaying tongue had withdrawn and, but for the continued sense of presence
in his head, Methos would have thought himself abandoned. Shakily he lowered
his legs and then raised his head to find Duncan sitting back on his heels,
watching him out of narrowed eyes.

"You liked that?" The tone was accusing.

It would have been pointless to deny it. "Yes."

"You really are a whore, aren't you, Methos," said Duncan icily. "You'd be
anyone's if they just stuck their tongue up your ass."

"I don't make a habit of it," Methos shot back. "And I usually prefer it
if they ask first."

"Really? You surprise me," Duncan continued. "I thought that was how you'd
managed to live so long. If anyone threatens you, you just roll over and
show them what an easy fuck you are."

Methos compressed his lips into a tight line, biting back the angry retort
that rose to them. MacLeod was baiting him, wanted his response. Well, he
was going to be disappointed... even if the words did have an uncomfortable
ring of truth to them. In his time Methos had used all the means at
his disposal to survive, including sex. Sometimes he'd had nothing else to
barter for his life. But this act was something he had always enjoyed with
his lovers - when it had been mutually agreed upon. Methos had loved the
intimacy of it. Why did MacLeod have to make it seem so sordid, so cheap?
And he'd been so good at it... made Methos feel such intense, deep, aching
pleasure. The old Immortal clamped down on his emotions. He couldn't afford
to let MacLeod get to him like this.